


At The Gates Of

by Evil_Little_Dog



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Gen, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  Edward has nightmares. <br/>Disclaimer:  Don’t I wish I was creating something for this universe I could make money off of.  Alas.  No.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At The Gates Of

You remember this place from the last time(s) you were here. The white expanse seems to stretch out forever, giving you no point of reference except for the being sitting in front of you, a smile stretching its otherwise featureless face. 

"I'm not leaving without my brother," you say. 

Its smile widens, and suddenly, somehow, you see beyond it, to an emaciated figure. Last time you were here, he was sitting before a doorway. Now…

"Al!" you scream, reaching for that slumped body, not moving, not breathing. "Al! No, Al!" 

Behind you, the doors start gaping open, and the black, ribbon-like hands, reach from that opening to pull you back through. You scream and struggle, trying to reach your little brother, but whatever you do, you cannot break free. 

“Al!”

“What is it, Brother?” 

You jerk awake, adrenaline and pain swimming through your body. “Al?” 

“Was it a nightmare?” he asks, voice ringing metallically through the suit of armor. He leans toward you, the featureless metal somehow offering empathy. 

“Yeah,” you gulp, wrapping your arms around your bent legs, burying your face in your knees. You have an affinity for the stupid things. Just once, when a storm blows up, you’d like to sleep through the night without waking in a cold sweat and a need to vomit. 

“What did you dream about this time?” Alphonse asks.

You shiver, remembering the lifeless form – his body, sprawled in front of forever-closed doors. “Nothing,” you say, tightening your grip on your legs. “Nothing at all.”


End file.
